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From: nostrumo@nienor.s.bawue.de (Nostrumo)
Subject: TG: "Milady's Wiles" by Brandy Dewinter (17/22)
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Hi.
This is the latest story of Brandy DeWinter. A story about war and
the casualties of war.
As always: I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim to it. If
you have some useful hints or some good comments, your mail is welcome.
Flames, you know, will be piped to /dev/null.
If you are an author and wish to remain anonymous or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands
for story postings and for nothing else.
Enjoy the story.
Ciao
Nostrumo
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Milady's Wiles
by Brandy Dewinter
Chapter 17 - 'Tis Better To Give Than To Receive
It was so late it was early when we finally retired to bed. After
the trial and the discussions afterward that had no doubt included more
groupings than our own, no one rose until mid-morning at least. Part
of the reason, or excuse, for that was the lack of sunshine. Our good
weather had broken and while there was no new snow, dark, heavy clouds
hung low over Stalwart Guard and its surrounding fields.
Even at noon it was still unbearably gloomy. Or perhaps that was
just the mood in the castle. I knew I needed to escape it in any event.
Taking my hooded cloak and gloves, I went to my high balcony to find it
isolated from the world by an icy cloud. And to find it already
occupied.
"My Princess," came a quiet voice from the shifting fog.
Even the cloud could not disguise the voice, however much it hid
the man that produced it.
"Milord Regent," I said, trying to keep any guilt from my voice.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"For what, Milord?" my voice still stiffly controlled.
"For the shame of my countryman."
It was a good thing that he was still standing too far away to see
my face, for the shame I felt must have been all too apparent. I
couldn't speak. I just leaned against the frigid stones of the ledge and
tried to get myself under control.
He must have taken my silence, my stiffness, for anger. I sensed
as much as heard a sigh, and a settling back against the ledge at his
own position.
Even in the gloom his proximity was enough to set my heart racing,
to set my mind careening down memories of the feel of his arms around
me, of his . . .
It was too much. I turned to escape back down the stairs. A part
of me wanted desperately for him to call me back, for him to make things
right between us. But they could never be right between us. We were
enemies in a war he thought was over. We were incompatible in even more
inescapable ways. We were . . .
He said nothing, though. I fled back to my rooms and spent the
evening working on my paintings. I even sent for a light supper rather
than go to the dining hall.
As a result, I missed out on the excitement until finally Minah
found me and told me the news. Reynal had indeed escaped. In a sur-
prising display of incompetence, his guards (coincidentally Achaieans)
had allowed him to slip out of their grasp while moving him to a cell
with better light at the request of Lyonidas. Before they could
recapture him, he had locked a door behind himself . . . with them
on the wrong side. The near-anonymity of High Canyon warriors had
provided disguise enough with his features concealed behind the usual
hood. The only giveaway had been his selection of his own horse from
the stables. The guard at the drawbridge had been reluctant to fire his
crossbow on so little justification and in minutes Reynal was out of
sight. The alarm was raised of course, but the Captain of the guards
was in his turn reluctant to set out without proper provisions for his
men, with a storm so obviously threatening.
The threat was realized during the night. When we arose the next
morning we were greeted with snow falling more thickly than the previous
day's fog. By evening, the new blanket was near to the belly of a horse
and clearly impassable.
Mother was proven right once again, for with Reynal's escape the
sense of gloom was raised from the castle. Without his constant
presence, known even if unseen, the tension between High Canyonite
and Achaiean had no focus and soon dissipated.
Except between Lyonidas and myself. I wished a thousand times I
had not chanced upon him during the period before Reynal's escape. Per-
haps without that particular focus our own tension could have dissipated.
But it did exist. He thought I held him responsible for Reynal's shame-
ful act, yet I knew that it was my own people who were truly to blame for
the false accusation. I kept much to myself, or would have.
Mother would not allow it. Our Winterfair feast had actually been
a few days before Christmas and when the day we celebrated the birth of
our Savior arrived, Mother demanded that I take on at least the outward
signs of joy in respect for the occasion. She had me dress in a gown
much too lively for gloom, gaily festooned with lace and ribbons and
bright colors.
As so often happens, pretending to be happy brought the reality on
its heels. Julia was bubbling with her usual energy. Amity was so much
improved in temper that I thought she might give our whole conspiracy
away but Mother's serene confidence dispelled even that fear. By now I
had come to love wearing pretty clothes as much as anyone, and my new
dress was so beautifully feminine that I couldn't be unhappy when I wore
it.
The only note of gloom was the absence of Lyonidas. With the depar-
ture of Reynal he had become almost isolated. No High Canyon nobles
remained. In addition, this was not an occasion his people celebrated so
he did not appear as we laughed and nibbled on traditional pastries.
Each of us had small gifts for each other, actually several for it was
our custom to exchange things throughout the day at unexpected times. As
the afternoon wore on though, I stood to leave the table in the dining
hall where we had been holding our festivities.
"Where are you going, dear?" Mother asked.
"I have a, um, gift to give someone," I tried to smile back, but I'm
sure my worry showed. That was clue enough for whom the gift was in-
tended.
"It will be fine, Cherysse. Trust yourself," she advised.
I merely nodded, but my heart was in my throat as I went to my room
to get the gift I had prepared in the long sessions in my chamber. At
least, one of them. A few steps that had never seemed so long and I was
down the hallway to another room. The room that seemed to hold only
quiet.
My knock, though, was responded to immediately.
"Who is it?"
I swallowed to get my voice to work, then tried as hard as I could
to sound casual when I answered, "Your Princess."
Then my voice went away again as I squeaked when the door was flung
open. I hadn't heard a sound of movement to give me warning, but with a
magic of his own Lyonidas was standing there before me. I almost dropped
the package I carried in favor of using my arms to clutch at him, but I
managed to hold it up instead.
"Merry Christmas, My Prince."
Then the package slipped to the floor unheeded as he swept me up
into his arms and crushed my lips with a kiss so passionate it was almost
painful. But dear God, what sweet, sweet pain!
Whatever had passed before had no more meaning than time itself
while I was suspended in his arms. I don't know whether it was moments
or days before he slowly let my feet return to the floor. Surely my
racing heartbeat was no accurate measure of time. But eventually my
toes touched the package I had brought, making the wrapping rustle
softly.
Moving my feet to avoid the package must have seemed to Lyonidas
like a wiggle of complaint at my so tight bondage within his embrace. He
quickly lowered me the rest of the way to the floor and stepped back.
"I'm sorry, m.. uh, Princess," he said.
The good humor that had returned to me with our party carried me
past the guilt that had earlier seemed so oppressive, so I teased him
rather than retreat into equivalent formality.
With a heavy, artificial sigh and a pout that was a deliberate re-
minder, I said, "So quickly you tire of me, that after only a few times
you come to regret kissing me."
The twinkle in my eyes must have given me away because he didn't
rise to the bait with any defense.
Or perhaps he did, because in the next heartbeat his lips were again
pressed to mine, and then again, and then again, and then again.
His hand was in my hair once more and I surrendered to the sensuous
touch while his breath whispered in my ear, "My Cherysse, I only thought
you were angry with me."
My answer was smothered, but none the less clear for all that.
As though it were the chaperone my steel prison made unnecessary,
the package once again rustled as someone's foot touched it.
This time I did wiggle to be let out of his embrace and bent to
retrieve the nagging distraction. Lyonidas reached for it before I could
get my stiffly-corseted body into position, and held it out to me.
"No, My Prince, that is for you."
"What is it?"
"Now I suspect you're smart enough to figure out how to determine
that," I laughed.
He gave me an artificial little frown before grinning himself. "You
know that we of High Canyon do not celebrate your Christmas. This is not
necessary."
"It is never necessary, My Prince. It is a joy to honor our God
with a small reflection of his gift to us of a Savior. Accept the gift
for the pleasure it gives me, if there is none for yourself."
Opening the package he found first a set of leggings like those I had
worn as Deacon so long ago. Well, not exactly like, these were quite a
bit bigger. In addition there was a shirt, and a tunic, and a wide belt.
What made them special though, was their color. The leggings were black,
of course. That was traditional. And the shirt was tan in honor of his
homeland. But the tunic was richly red, embroidered with black and white
and silver and blue as befitted a festive occasion. It was an outfit
such as a man of Achaiea would wear for a Christmas feast, not the loose
tan shirt and trousers of High Canyon.
"Would you honor me by wearing these, My Prince?"
He nodded, then stepped to the chest at the foot of his bed.
"Would you honor me by wearing these, My Princess?" he said as he
handed me a small package, not as big as my fist.
In it was a pair of gleaming gold earrings such as a noblewoman of
High Canyon might wear. Simple loops, since their styles did not include
much ornamentation, yet the rings were smooth and shining with rich
depth. I knew of the styles of High Canyon of course, just as I knew of
the styles of Verdantland, and of the ancient Empire, but I never
expected to have the occasion to wear such beautiful treasures.
Then the problem of how to wear them came to me. "My, um, Lyonidas,
I can't wear these."
His face fell as though I had slapped him in the face.
"No, My Prince, it's not that I don't want to. I can't. These
require that I have holes in my ears as High Canyon women do," I ex-
plained as I removed the spring clip that was part of my jewelry for
the day.
"Oh," his face was not much less despairing, "I don't suppose you'd
be willing to do that."
"Well, um, maybe," and it was as though I had a string of my own
attached to the corners of his lips, pulling it upward, "but I have heard
very, um, unsettling rumors of disease that results from the, uh,
punctures?"
"Not if you do the anointing," he declared.
"Anointing?"
"Yes. When a noblewoman of High Canyon adopts the rings, her ears
are anointed twice a day for two weeks with fine wine. It wards off
sickness."
"Pouring wine on my ears will ward off sickness?" I snorted.
"Well, you don't really pour it on, you just sort of dampen your ear
with a wine-soaked cloth. But it works. My mother wears the rings, and
she had no trouble, nor any other noblewoman that I know."
Well. When I brought Lyonidas his Achaiean outfit, I never expected
to be asked to become a High Canyon woman. Part of me wanted to flee
from this strange . . . perversion. But I could seldom tell Lyonidas no
when he was so close to me, with such longing in his deep dark eyes, and
on his so warm lips and . . . I found myself nodding my head.
One of the pins I had worked into my hair provided the puncturing
tool. Lyonidas insisted on purifying it in a candle flame, at least the
part that would touch my ears, as part of the ritual. It didn't hurt . .
. much . . . though the immediate application of a few drops of wine
stung a bit. The earrings were themselves anointed before he placed them
in my ears. They felt quite strange. I couldn't tell if it was because
of the weight, they were quite heavy, or because of some magical aspect
of the ritual. I found myself tilting my head from side to side to feel
the tug on my ears. The motion caught a reflection from one of the
candles that flashed at me from the small looking glass near Lyonidas'
bed.
"They are beautiful!" I cried happily.
"They are nothing beside your own beauty," my prince answered.
That earned him a chance to examine them from closer range. Very
close range. I flung my arms around his neck and started kissing him
like a barroom strumpet, but I had never received such a personal gift in
my life. No one could take these away from me. They were now part of my
very body.
"Now, My Prince, you need to wear your new gifts," I demanded. Some
time later.
"Very well, my Cherysse. Will you wait for me in your chambers?"
"Maybe I should just wait here," I suggested with that smile I had
learned from Mother. The one that could heat the castle.
I swear, he hunched over just a little. I had a feeling I had all
too good an idea of what pain had caused his grimace. It embarrassed me
with the recognition that I had once again lost track of who I really
was. I was going to have to talk to Mother about reducing the compulsion
of her persona.
Someday.
But for that day I just grinned at him and turned away in a swirl of
delicate lace.
When I returned to the dining hall, Lyonidas accompanied me. At our
entrance a wave of silence flowed out over the room as people recognized
Lyonidas in his new attire. Then murmuring flowed in behind it like a
reflected wave. I never knew who it was that started the applause,
though I suspected that Hugh of Sandars had something to do with it.
Still, once started it grew until there were cheering children and
beaming adults in all corners of the large hall. I saw a flush flow up
from Lyonidas' neck but he nodded with good grace and escorted me to my
seat.
"That looks very good on you, Milord Regent," Mother said.
"Thank you, Majesty. It is surprisingly comfortable. I can see
why men of Achaiea like the style."
"They like the style because the women of Achaiea like the style,"
Julia laughed. "You have good looking legs, Milord Regent."
That brought a new flush to his neck, along with a rueful grin, but
the agreement that followed on the heels of Julia's pronouncement covered
any protest he might make. I was laughing along with the others when
Julia noticed my own new gifts.
"Cherysse! What have you done?"
Now it was my turn to blush, a good thing because I was doing about
as good a job of it as I could, my turn or not. In our tradition Lyoni-
das may have claimed me by kissing me in public, but marking me as his
with rings inserted into my ears was hardly a matter of tradition. It
was a clear statement.
Mother looked at me as well but she said nothing. I could see con-
cern in her eyes, though not anger. Well, sometimes you just have to
make decisions by yourself, based on what seems right at the time. I
was prepared to defend myself to her if need be. Though perhaps I should
say I was prepared to answer to her if need be because I wasn't entirely
sure why I had allowed Lyonidas to put his rings in me, so how could I
defend myself?
Julia was not angry either. Once again I saw hurt and disap-
pointment and confusion in her eyes. I would have changed them all for
pure anger that might burn clean rather than see her pain. She left the
table to flee to her own rooms.
Mother moved to follow her, but this time I held her arm to make
her stay in her position. With a brief glance of reassurance to Lyoni-
das, I went after Julia myself.
Instead of going directly to her room though, I went by my own quar-
ters first. I had made a special present for her as well and hoped it
would act to bridge the gulf that had suddenly opened between us. But
when I knocked on her door I received no answer.
"Julia, please let me in," I called.
"Go away!"
For the first time in many months, I used a voice that was not full
of music and light energy. I spoke as Deacon.
"Julia, let me in."
I heard the bolt withdraw, though without voice to confirm the invi-
tation. Nonetheless, I opened the door and moved into the room. She was
standing on the far side of her room, looking out the window.
It was a struggle to maintain "my" voice, but I spoke again as Dea-
con, "Julia, will you give me a chance to explain?"
She just stood at her window, looking out in to the darkness.
Taking her continued silence for as much consent as I was going to get, I
let my voice relax into its now-normal tones.
"Julia. I'm sorry. When I am with Lyonidas, I can refuse him al-
most nothing. If I did not wear my maiden's lover, he would have found
out my secret, for on the night of Reynal's supposed attack I allowed him
to undress me. Yet, when he is not near me my thoughts are always and
only of you. I swear this to be true, but know I cannot prove it to you.
Will you take this gift from me, if not as proof then at least as evi-
dence of how I feel about you?"
"Why shouldn't he undress you? He owns you. You wear his mark in
your flesh." Well, at least she was speaking to me. Sort of.
"And I wear your mark in my heart, where no one can see it but me.
It is the one that never leaves me, though."
"Hah! It leaves you soon enough if Lyonidas is around."
"Then perhaps I should have said that I wear your mark in my soul.
For though Lyonidas can indeed excite my heart, only you have ever
touched my soul."
"Hmmph," she grunted, but I could see questions in her eyes though
they were still mostly turned away.
"It is true. In all the time since Tamor died and I saw you in a
different way, no other person has ever caused me the, um, discomfort
that you see evidence of every time we bathe." I began to move closer
to her as I spoke, "No other person has ever been in my dreams when I
wake up at night, and every morning. No other person has filled my mind
with visions of beauty beyond the fairest flower, beyond the brightest
sunrise, beyond the clearest sky."
"Let me show you how I see you," I pleaded softly, not as a beggar
but as a lover. There, I said it to myself. Would she believe me if I
said it to her?
The gift I had prepared for her was a painting, a portrait of her.
It was almost childishly emotional. Julia was my angel, floating near
the sun with widespread wings and a glowing smile that I had worked on
forever. Her smile was full of life, of real humor, yet full of warmth
and compassion. It was hers, but it was more than hers, it was mine as
well, mine to cherish until I captured it in pigments I had had to mix
myself. The painting was not sexual. After all, it was an angel.
Others might find it nearly blasphemous, but not sexual. Still, the
shape under the robes of the angel was hers and just clear enough to
reflect an image burned into my memory.
It got her attention. She turned fully away from the window and
moved over to where I held the painting near the light.
"How did you do this? I never posed for you."
"My, uh, Julia, I remember everything about you. Whenever I am not
under the influence of Lyonidas, I think only of you. I have memorized
every curve of your face, every color, every shadow."
"Not only the curves of my face, it would seem," she said, but I
could see pleasure in her face, hear it in her voice.
"Not only the curves of your face," I agreed. I set the painting up
on her dresser, and took her face gently between my hands.
Now or never, I decided. I took as deep a breath as my hidden tor-
mentor would allow and said, "Julia. I love you. I love you with all
my soul, and with all of my heart, my own heart, however buried that
sometimes seems. You know as well as I do what part I have to play.
Please believe me when I tell you it is only a part, not a true reflec-
tion of my feelings."
Her answer was a slow movement toward me. I moved just as slowly
toward her, wanting desperately for the kiss that seemed now possible yet
afraid to frighten away the fragile peace within us.
It did not escape. The fragility of the peace was transformed into
tenderness as her soft, full lips sought out my own. My hands slipped
from her cheeks to her flaming halo of hair even as I felt her own hands
come up to caress my golden tresses. I cannot conceive of a more sensual
moment than when we shared caresses while we shared kisses. I have never
enjoyed a more tender moment than that moment when I told her of my love.
"Oh, Deacon, what are we to do?" she sighed.
"For the first thing, you better not call me Deacon," I smiled
sadly. "But I can't tell you how much pleasure it gives me to hear you
say my name."
"Oh, my love, I know it is you under there. Like you reminded me, I
see the evidence each time we bathe. Yet, sometimes it seems so hard to
watch while you give yourself to Lyonidas."
She called me 'love'! She doesn't hate me. I was too happy to
share the worry she expressed.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I could not do it without the persona
impressed on me by Mother. But when it is in force, I cannot hold back,
either. It doesn't mean anything unless he's in the room."
"Did you really undress for him?" she giggled, suddenly remembering
my earlier claim.
"Well," I giggled to her, "he did most of the work. I was a bit,
um, incapacitated at the time."
"Then what happened?" she asked.
"I fell."
"You fell? Where?"
"In his room," I remembered with another sigh.
"No, dummy, I mean how did you fall? What happened?"
"I got tangled in all the material of my gown and just tripped. I
ended up on my nose with my chemise up around my armpits." Now I was
laughing. A lot of things are funny long after they're over.
"So he saw your maiden's lover?"
"Yes. He was horrified. He accused Achaieans of being more cruel
than High Canyon."
"He's probably right," she snickered. "I certainly would have
agreed at the end of our trip to North Vale."
"Don't remind me," I snorted in a most unladylike way.
"We better get back to the party," I cautioned.
"Not quite yet," Julia disagreed. "I have something for you as
well."
Her manner suddenly grew somber as she went to a chest and pulled
out a package. As she returned to me she said, "I had these made when
we returned from North Vale. Afterward, I wasn't sure if you would be
interested."
She opened up her package to reveal two identical hair adornments,
combs with delicate pearls arranged in a small circle. She handed me
one and took the other for herself.
"Julia, are you sure about this?" I asked, tears forming in my eyes.
"Yes, my love. Very sure. It was you that seemed distracted."
The combs were the symbol of betrothal for Achaiean maidens. It
was, of course, unique for me to have one. Typically only the girl wears
one in her hair as a sign of her commitment. But I wore the combs and
pins of an Achaiean Princess rather than the coat of arms of a prince so
this would be my appropriate sign of commitment as well.
Or maybe not. "I'm not sure I should wear this. If Lyonidas finds
out what it means, he'll be suspicious."
"Of what? He'll be flattered. Maybe that's what the rings in your
ears mean to him already."
"No! Really? Do you think so?"
"No, but we better look into it," Julia suggested.
"You're right. I'll have Minah find out. In the meantime, I'll
cherish this pin, but neither of us better wear one. Oh Julia, I'm so
happy! I love you. When this is all over, I'll find out a way to show
you. I promise!"
She smiled and held me. "The only promise I want is the promise
of our love."
"That you have, now and forever. Or at least, when Lyonidas is
not in the room," I grinned. That was probably dangerous, but I had
to make sure things were settled.
"You just remember who I am when he's not in the room," she laughed
as she poked me in my armored waist. "You never know, I might have to
play a part too, before this is done."
She laughed when she said it, but it was to prove all too prophetic.
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